


look who's digging their own grave

by danielmorgans



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:33:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danielmorgans/pseuds/danielmorgans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You realize this could hurt you, will hurt you, is already a pang in the heart you’re trying to drown, so, fuck it. Might as well go down swinging.</p>
            </blockquote>





	look who's digging their own grave

**Author's Note:**

> easing myself back into writing with some grantaire feels. will they ever stop?

i.

There’s something about his lips. How they’ll smile just as easily as they’ll snarl. How they’ll bleed, so red that you want to bite at them, leave him messy and gasping. Fuck him up, because once upon a time there had been a question of wanting to be him or wanting to be with him.

It’s the first time you interrupt him, tear his words to pieces because it’s so easy, that you realize you can’t have either.

You realize this could hurt you, will hurt you, is already a pang in the heart you’re trying to drown, so, fuck it. Might as well go down swinging.

 

ii.

You’re drunk the first time you kiss him, press him into the wall, your chest to his, feel him hard against your thigh and panting against your lips. Watch him fall to pieces beneath your fingers and hide your grin against his neck. Sharps words are pressed against your teeth and you could ruin him. You don’t think anything has ever felt so good.

 

iii.

You tell them the tattoos are a warning and they laugh, ask what that one means, so you tell them, watch them shift, uncomfortable and unsure as the silence stretches a beat too long.

You tell them the star is a black hole and the Greek is tragedy and the heart doesn’t mean anything at all. You show them the black roots creeping out from your spine, tell them this is what Icarus’ wings looked like when he fell.

You tell them the tattoos are your story and they aren’t laughing anymore.

 

iv.

You double majored in politics and journalism and graduated magna cum laude, but they don’t know that. Think you went to art school because they don’t know your parents, don’t know you grew up with expectations on your shoulders, don’t know how close you were when you brought your boyfriend home and expected something more than careful distaste and quiet disapproval.

 

v.

You think, when he presses you down and bites, that this could be so much more. Can feel the space your heart is willing to make, the little pieces willing to be given away to test this strangely fragile thing.

His tongue flattens over the indents of his teeth on your chest and his fingertips move lightly against your sides and there’s nothing in you that wants to make him bleed.

You think, when his brushes his lips against the corner of your eye, that this could be what falling feels like.


End file.
